Page 25 of Garden of Poisoned Delights

There had been a time when Flick, new to his life with Hektor and eager to learn, had taken to eating pages from the Archmage’s books. The Archmage knew that disciplining someone else’s demon was nearly impossible, so he’d turned his ire on Hektor instead. Flick had been too weak to stop him, and Hektor remembered the frantic way Flick used to nuzzle his face afterwards, and the soft, panicky sounds he’d made.

It was strange to realize that he’d forgotten. It made Hektor feel distant from his own body, and he reached out to gather Flick in his arms.

“It isn’t that kind of discipline,” Hektor said, as Flick clambered onto his shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

“He’s right,” Charon said. “I would rather go without my book than raise a hand to him in anger.”

YOU DO NOT NEED ANGER TO CAUSE PAIN, Flick said, and Hektor could feel Flick siphoning his magic, drawing on it like a well. I CAN READ MORE THAN BOOKS, SOLDIER.

“No,” Hektor snapped, as Charon’s face went carefully blank. “No reading people. I’m sorry, Charon. He’s protective. What I mean is, Flick needs a lesson in restraint, and I think you might be able to help.” He pulled out the script he and Rose had been poring over before his terrible, wonderful, ridiculous best friend had ruined things, and he scribbled down a hasty list. He handed it to Charon, who scanned it and gave him a curious look.

“You can draw on the money I keep in the jar in the kitchen,” Hektor said. “Just make sure there’s a lot of it, and plenty of people to admire it.”

ADMIRE WHAT? Flick asked.

“Come on, Flick,” Hektor said, picking up the empty book and tucking it under one arm. I have a book to write, and you have a lesson to learn.”

* * *

Charon headed toward the bakery, the clouds beginning to gather and a light mist of rain starting up as he made his way along the familiar route. He couldn’t shake the memory of the little fox demon hissing at him, protecting Hektor from what he must have assumed would be a violent punishment.

I can read more than books, soldier.

You do not need anger to cause pain.

Charon knew that. He’d been a torturer in Arktos—oh, he’d had a fancier title for it, but that’s what he’d been. He’d hurt people to get information, or promises, or sometimes just because they’d earned it for a transgression. It wasn’t like here in Staria, where the nobles who came to him wanted pain, craved it, needed it. There were masochists and submissives in Arktos, but that had never had anything to do with what Charon did to the people who were sent to him.

Flick must have known something of that, sensed the violence that was never fully banked in Charon’s soul. He knew that was why he’d not only been given his job back in Arktos, but why he’d been so good at it.

“There you are. Gracious, you walk as fast as a racehorse.”

Charon blinked as the cheerful, slightly out-of-breath voice broke into his rapidly spiraling thoughts. Yves materialized at his side, and he looked nothing like the glittery, sulky brat he so often playacted during his assignations at the House of Onyx. Yves was dressed simply in linen pants, an oversized coat and a pair of boots with hastily-tied laces and mud caking the soles. His face was flushed from exertion, hair was tousled by the wind instead of his clever fingers and generous use of products.

He was lovely like this, Charon thought, as Yves grinned up at him and rocked back on his heels. “I did not know you were there, or I would have walked slower.”

Yves gave a graceful shrug. “I thought you might want some company, but it’s fine if you don’t.” His eyes slid away, and Charon wasn’t sure he believed that, but Yves smiled again, too bright this time. “I can just, ah, visit the glitter store.”

“That is not a real place,” Charon said, slowing his pace to match Yves’ shorter stride. He is worried you do not want him around, Charon thought. Shortly after came the uncomfortable realization that if Charon wanted to break him, really break him, like he did when he had a different name back in Arktos, it would be so terribly easy to do. He wouldn’t have to lay a finger on Yves to do it.

Pain didn’t need to be physical to ruin someone, to break them into pieces that could never be put back together.

“Hey,” Yves said, smile fading a bit. “Seriously, if you want some time to yourself, it’s fine.”

“No,” Charon said, surprising himself a bit at how much he meant that. “I would appreciate the company, thank you.”

“Oh.” Yves looked briefly surprised, then grinned. It made his eyes bright like spring leaves. “Great. So, you’re not too mad about the book, are you? Flick does this. He ate my favorite trashy Katoikos melodrama. Wait, uh do Arkoudai find those offensive? You’re always carrying some pretty Katoikos submissive off and ravishing them.”

“Me, personally?” Charon smiled, his dark mood lifting as they walked and the drizzle gave way to proper rain. It was still something of a marvel to him, rain, even after all these years. “We have them too, illustrations of pretty Katoikos patricians, sobbing while impaled on overlarge Arkoudai...weaponry.”

Yves snorted. “Sure. You got any of those in your room?” He slyly elbowed Charon in the side. “Here I thought you only read smart books.”

“The banter is often very witty in those sorts of tales,” Charon said, straightfaced, and held the expression for long enough that Yves blinked at him, clearly uncertain if he were serious or not. Charon smiled, and Yves elbowed him again, and they walked in the growing rainstorm toward the bakery.

“Was the book that good? The one the fox ate. He’s a menace,” said Yves, who was often found feeding Flick candy from the dish in Laurent’s office, the fancy one where the candies were theoretically only for clients. “Cute, but loud.” Yves grinned. “Though, honestly, that could also apply to me.”

Someone who didn’t know Yves, or who only knew him as the pretty brat of the House of Onyx who made crying look like an art form, might make some glib remark about Flick preferring books and Yves preferring the obvious. But Charon knew a quieter Yves, one who liked adventure stories and gasped softly when reading, like he was watching it happen in the theater.

“When you read my books, the words remain,” Charon reminded him. “And it was, yes. The Lukoi are quite something.” He sighed. “I should not be greedy, perhaps. I did read it once already.”

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